Waking Up
by RedWing0109
Summary: Lightning arced through his body as his very cells mutated. The sound of rushing waves filled his ears and his head pounded in the rhythm of a thousand drums. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing eased. It was becoming easier to just let go of everything, so that's what he did. He let go. Takes place during season 3 episode 7 "Fresh Blood." High T rating!


Waking Up

Lightning arced through his body as his very cells mutated. The sound of rushing waves filled his ears and his head pounded in the rhythm of a thousand drums. He bucked and jerked against his restraints but it was no use. He was growing weaker by the second. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing eased. It was becoming easier to just let go of everything, so that's what he did. He let go.

A steady, rhythmic sound filled his ears, the sound of a beating heart. It was in the distance, reaching him from God knows where. The pain was gone. All traces of it had left his body, and he no longer felt weak. Something filled his veins, something that told him to wake up. Soft gasping broke through the heartbeat, two women hanging from chains across the room. He realized then that he too was standing, that his arms were hoisted above his head, held in place by cold metal.

He opened his eyes, briefly, before immediately screwing them shut. It was like when his mother used to wake him up for school in the morning by flicking on the light. After a minute, he gathered his courage and cracked his eyes open again. There was the light again, mocking him with its bluish cast. It took a few seconds before his eyes were able to adjust enough for him to open them all the way. The source of the light was a neon sign outside the window he was hanging to face.

He turned away from the hellish light, and as he turned, he noticed something else. There was a pain inside him the source of which he could not place. It wasn't hunger, he knew hunger enough to know what that was, but it sure as hell felt like it. There was a burning that accompanied the pain, a burning in the back of his throat. It was then that he realized what he was.

He hung his head in defeat. He would not succumb to the awful urges inside of him, the urges to kill and to drink blood. He had fought them for so long, and now he was one of them. He wanted nothing more than to die. The gasping reached his ears again, louder this time. How many hours had it been since they were last fed? How many hours until the bastard who created him would return?

He wasted no more time wallowing in his self-pity. With three powerful jerks of his arms he was free, and he took a moment to stand there and marvel at his newfound strength. The women were looking at him, their eyes wide with hunger. They began to struggle as he did to try and pull their chains down from the ceiling, but they were not as strong as he was. Two powerful steps took him to where they were, and they looked up at him, pleading with their eyes for his assistance.

Without a word, he turned to the one on the left. Gently, tenderly, he took her chin in his hand. There was a subtle power behind his movements that had not been there before. She was beautiful. The neon behind him cast a light on her face that made her dirty hair shine. He longed to kiss her, to give into the basest instinct man possesses, but he abstained. He dropped his eyes from hers and repositioned his hand on her chin to get a better grip. His other hand went to the back of her head.

With one powerful twist, her neck had been broken and her head torn off. Blood rained down from the severed head and spouted out of her out of her neck like a fountain before pouring down the front of her white shirt. He threw the head away in disgust and turned to the next woman. She was screaming.

He didn't linger over her like he had the other woman. She was inconsequential, and she died as quickly as the other. He left the bodies where they were, limp and bleeding profusely, and stormed out of the warehouse.

He stumbled, caught off guard by the sounds and the smells that bombarded his senses. Even at night, in this dimly lit alley of a street, his eyes burned. A car sped past, and he stumbled back drunkenly, black spots obscuring his vision. He moved forward a few steps, trying to force himself to adjust to his newly heightened senses. A slight creaking reached his ears—there was a man towards the end of the street fixing his car. He inhaled deeply, gathering in the man's scent.

The hunt was about to begin.

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**And there's another one-shot! Hope I did Gordon justice. He's such a nasty character on the show, one that you just love to hate, but the way Sam killed him... *shudders* Anyway, thanks for reading, and please drop me a review letting me know what you think!**

**~Red~**


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